


get out of this old house

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think I'm going to leave," Eames says. "But I won't."</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur says, then walks away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get out of this old house

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Guillemot's "Little Bear"

When it happens, it's quiet. It isn't yelling or thrown items. It's Arthur, running his hand through his hair, messing it up into something almost endearing, something that ordinarily would be. He says, "God, I hate you sometimes."

"The feeling is more than mutual," Eames says, but he can't hate Arthur right then.

It started as a fight about nothing in particular, nothing special, Arthur railing about how flighty he is, and his comments about the stick up Arthur's ass, something they've rehashed a hundred times, but this time it gets mean, it gets ugly.

He's never lived with Arthur, not really, but he has enough things in Arthur's apartment that when Arthur starts sorting his things out mechanically, putting them on the floor of the living room, it's enough to fill two boxes.

Eames leaves with those boxes, and he checks himself into a hotel, and he doesn't turn back.

*

They're in the middle of a job when they break, a job that'll end in millions, all told, and they're only a part of the package, with Ariadne flexing her architectural muscles, barely out of school, and Yusuf flown in from Mombasa.

Cobb's with his kids, so they have another extractor. His name's Grant, and they've both worked with him over the years. He has a puppy-dog look in his eyes around Arthur, and Eames can never quite figure out if he wants to fuck Arthur or be him.

The point is, they can't cancel the job. Arthur comes in early the next day, bags under his eyes, barely noticeable, and takes Eames aside.

"We can't let them know it's over until the end of the job," Arthur says, stone-faced. There's absolutely nothing there of the man Eames knows.

"Wouldn't do to look unprofessional," Eames agrees, and if he says it sharp enough to make Arthur flinch, well, all that means is he was trying to.

*

It's a long day. It's a long day of watching the fragile nape of Arthur's neck above his collar, and knowing he can't touch it, except for show. Knowing if he did, Arthur would tense up beneath his fingers, all miserable knots. It's a long day, and at the end of it, he needs a drink.

Eames gets so drunk he can barely stand, so he's surprised when he wakes up the next morning with a blinding headache beside a man who looks barely legal, whose dark hair is falling into his eyes as he sleeps. He's thin and gorgeous, and he looks so much like Arthur that Eames can't help but hate himself.

He comes in an hour late and in yesterday's clothes, and Ariadne whistles at him and then waggles her eyebrows at Arthur, who looks the very picture of controlled fury.

Once everyone's gone back to their work, once Eames has managed to stomach a few pills, a glass of water, Arthur corners him. "I can smell him on you," Arthur says in a hiss, his fingers white-knuckled on Eames' wrist.

Eames bares his teeth. "He looked just like you," he says, and Arthur's grip goes tight, goes painful, before he lets go.

"Go fuck yourself, Mr.Eames," Arthur says, tone carefully pleasant for anyone close enough to hear his voice, if not the words.

"I'd rather you do it for me," Eames says, and manages to brush his fingers over Arthur's hip before Arthur spins on his heel and walks away.

*

They manage a few more days, a few days of smiles between gritted teeth and the same old banter, but genuinely mean for once. From the glances exchanged behind Arthur's back, Eames figures they're not fooling anyone, but leave it to Arthur to keep stubbornly trying.

It's when Eames places his hand on Arthur's shoulder, deliberately casual, and Arthur can't quite hide the way he tenses inch by inch, that he snaps. "A word," Eames says, and Arthur follows him into the relative privacy of a corner well away from everyone else.

"We can't keep doing this," Eames says. If it were up to him he'd be half a world away, licking his wounds and gambling away his fortunes, but it's not up to him. With Arthur, it feels like it never is.

"It's just until the job's done," Arthur says. "That's it. I know it's hard for you to stick with things, Eames, but jesus, it's just a couple of days."

"This coming from the scared little boy who runs from anything he wants," Eames snaps.

"I don't have to listen to this," Arthur says, and moves to leave.

"I really wouldn't test me right now," Eames says, just loud enough that Arthur turns back, shifts right into his space.

"Two minutes," Arthur says. "I have work to do." He says it like Eames doesn't, like Eames has been blowing off his own. He hasn't. Arthur can think what he wants, but Eames is just as much a professional as he is.

"You think I'm going to leave," Eames says.

"I'm pretty sure I already left you," Arthur says, sounding bored, but his jaw is tight.

"You think I'm going to leave," Eames says. "But I won't."

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur says, then walks away.

Eames doesn't punch the wall beside him, but it's a near thing.

*

Eames has known Arthur for five years, has been fucking him just as long. He's been something neither bother to name for longer than he wants to think about, and it's just now that he realises that Arthur doesn't seem to know anything about him at all.

Eames knows Arthur as well as he could know anyone, could fit around him like a second skin, and Arthur still thinks he's going to leave.

The fact he wouldn't even begin to know how to leave him would be funny, if Arthur hadn't made a point of leaving him first.

*

They make it through to the job, though Eames isn't entirely sure how.

*

The job goes well, and Eames is tight with adrenaline when they get back to the warehouse to pack up, when he sees Grant's hand rest on Arthur's back, steadying, but then, Arthur's never really need steadying before.

"Excuse me," Eames says, just a little too harsh, and takes Arthur's arm, takes him just out of Grant's reach. "I need a word with the little lady."

He manages to manhandle Arthur into a room off the back, secluded, before Arthur spins on him. "What?" he asks. "You know, we don't actually have to pretend anymore—"

Eames kisses him before he says anything that will make that choice seem like a mistake.

Arthur kisses him back for a second, all reflex, before pulling back. "What the fuck?" he asks, and his voice is shaking.

"I'm not going anywhere, Arthur," Eames says, quiet. "And you should really know that by now."

"You have a high opinion of yourself," Arthur says, and his tone is even again, face unreadable. "Why do you think I care?"

"I know you," Eames says, even if he isn't sure he does, at the moment. He watches the bob in Arthur's throat as he swallows, the tightness of his jaw, and he knows that, if nothing else. He's got him memorised as best he can.

"You don't," Arthur says, finally. "You really don't."

It's quiet for a moment, a long moment, while he looks at Arthur, and Arthur looks back. "Please," he says finally, because that's all he has to give.

Arthur reaches a hand out, and it lands on Eames chest, light, before moving away. He walks out, and when he does, he leaves a sliver of door open to let the light shine through.


End file.
